


Damned

by raunchyandpaunchy



Series: Sun's Dawn [17]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alcohol, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February 2019, Hate Sex, Humiliation, Internalized Homophobia, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Thalmor, Vaginal Fingering, a lot of internalised things really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 13:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17829536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/pseuds/raunchyandpaunchy
Summary: Elenwen never seemed to have much fun at the Embassy parties, then Maven Black-Briar showed up.Fun might not be the right word for what happens between the pair. Self-destructive might be more accurate.





	Damned

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to [spiney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiney) for beta-ing this one for me!

Another evening, another party with Skyrim’s finest—or, at least that’s how they liked to think of themselves. Jarls, nobles, troubadours and other esteemed persons poured in through the doors of the Thalmor Embassy, helping themselves to the fancy food and expensive wine. Elenwen smiled, never letting her mask slip for a second, but inside she snarled. Parasites, each and every one of them. She lifted her wine flute to her lips and took a drink of the light, flowered liquid within, feeling the bubbles dance over her tongue like a thousand tiny sparks of electricity.

She weaved her way through the crowd, chatting easily with the patrons of her party; an act she’d performed countless times, an act she knew by heart. Gleaning the latest gossip while not giving anything of real value away. Watching the actions of others while appearing to be genuinely invested in the current conversation. She was a mer of exceptionally superior caste, and these habits were second nature, drummed into her from an early age. Now, she barely noticed she was doing it. With a swift motion of her hand, the serving girl dashed over to refill her glass, and she sidestepped her way into a conversation with the Jarl of Falkreath.

Predictably, the topic moved to current political affairs—Skyrim’s civil war and other such nonsense. Elenwen took a larger sip of her wine than was couth in order to bear it, fielding each question with platitudes and niceties as palatable as the food she served. It never failed to astonish her just how simple-minded the people of Skyrim actually were, she thought, ensuring her feeling of satisfaction didn’t make its way to her face.

“First Emissary Elenwen,” the Justiciar to her left said. “Another guest has arrived.”

Before she’d even made her way to the vestibule, she knew who it was. Maven always liked to be fashionably late, to make heads turn at her sudden appearance, as if her very presence were a gift. The woman was the very essence of nouveau riche, flaunting her wealth and connections to anyone who cared to humour her. Elenwen lifted a fresh glass of wine from the serving girl’s tray, sending the old smudged one away, running her fingers along the meticulous grooves in the glassware as she strode to greet her newest guest.

“Maven Black-Briar,” Elenwen crowed. “So good of you to grace us with your presence.” Her face was a picture of cold indifference, but she knew Maven recognised the jibe, the passive-aggressive game all the higher classes liked to play with each other.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world, Elenwen,” Maven said, practically tossing her obscenely large fur coat to the Justiciar standing next to her. A silver amulet adorned her neck, the stone in the centre the same glimmering emerald as her eyes.

“Come this way. There are some guests you really must meet.”

Maven picked up a glass of brandy, downing the dark amber liquid in one gulp, and rolled her eyes like a petulant child. “If I must.”

Elenwen’s blood boiled. Who in Oblivion does she think she is? Every party, every gathering, she did this—acted like an ungrateful, spoiled brat, while wolfing down the free wine and food. Elenwen felt her fingers tighten around her glass, and had to calm herself to prevent breaking the vessel. The woman had a way of testing her, in more ways than she’d care to admit.

Elenwen drank.

Maven’s fingers snaked around the wine flute as she brought it to her lips and—really, had nobody taught her that you ought to judge the wine by scent before tasting? How terribly common. Elenwen brought her own glass to her lips in parody, drinking deep of the liquid, stomach churning with something between disgust and amusement. And something much less innocent, she realised. A blush crept up her neck as she struggled not to look at the way Maven licked her lips or the swell of her breasts in her evening gown. The cadence of Maven’s speech began to lull Elenwen into somewhere secluded and sinful in the confines of her mind, and it was only when Elenwen realised that the corners of her vision were beginning to blur and her breaths were quickening that she excused herself to the back room to fetch a sip of water and clear her head.

Elenwen sat on the table, running her fingers through her hair. What was she thinking, allowing herself to get in this state? Allowing Maven to get so under her skin, like she always did, to allow her to make her feel—

“Ah, so that’s where you disappeared off to.”

Elenwen didn’t even have to look up to recognise the voice—the pomp, the arrogance, the audacity of it. She hated how each word made something deep and dark and exciting start curling under the surface, making every inch of her skin sing with anticipation, her own body betraying her.

“You’re not allowed to be back here,” Elenwen said, the edges of her usually clear and clipped voice softened by drink. “Get out, or I’ll have the guards escort you out.”

Maven scoffed. “Is that a fact?” She stalked over to Elenwen, eyes full of wickedness. “I wonder how all your delightful guests would react to find out that First Emissary Elenwen, head of the Thalmor Embassy, has been getting fucked by a strong Nord woman.” Maven’s hands gripped the lapels of Elenwen’s robes, stroking the fabric between finger and thumb as she lifted her to her feet. “Come to think of it, I wonder what your colleagues would have to say? I hear they… frown upon these kinds of relationships.”

Heat blazed through Elenwen’s body. “I suggest you don’t make such foolish accusations if you wish to continue prospering in Skyrim, Miss Black-Briar.”

“And I suggest,” Maven breathed, voice low, “that you get on your fucking knees before I have to make you, Elenwen.”

A bolt of desire shot through Elenwen at the words, but she fought it down, as she always did—or tried to, anyway. They both knew how this game went, and how it ultimately ended, but it didn’t stop Elenwen fighting for her last shred of control.

“I’m going to step out of this room now,” Elenwen said, as evenly as she could, making to move. “I’m going to return to the party, and I’m going to pretend you didn’t just threaten me. And you’re going to do the same.”

A sinister laugh came from Maven, and a chill ran up Elenwen’s spine. “Oh, I don’t think so, dear.” Maven reached into her pocket, retrieving something soft and delicate. “You see, it’s not like I’d be making baseless accusations now, is it?”

As Maven unravelled the fabric, Elenwen quickly realised exactly what she was holding. Her own smallclothes, elegant and silken and intricately stitched with her initials.

“Now, I wonder why I would have a pair of the First Emissary’s unmentionables,” Maven mused, her mouth curling in amusement, pressing them to Elenwen’s nose. “And I wonder why they’d reek of her cunt.”

The scent of her own sex overwhelmed Elenwen, and a surge of lust rushed through her, intoxicating and vulgar. Elenwen’s mouth opened to ask where she’d procured them, but to her chagrin, only a small whimper came out.

“That’s what I thought.” Maven’s expression turned from amusement to boredom. “I’m not going to ask again, Elenwen.”

Not for the first time, Elenwen sunk to her knees in front of Maven, lifting her skirts and easing her legs open. She might be on her knees, but she’d be damned if she was going to sit back and take orders, as if she were some lapdog to a Nord woman of questionable caste and taste. The idea disgusted her, the very concept abhorrent, but still she couldn’t deny the heat roiling in her core, the wetness pooling in her smallclothes.

As she traced her way up Maven’s thighs, she was surprised to find the woman wasn’t wearing any undergarments. Really, nothing should surprise her by now. Scant black hairs traced her sex, already damp with her own excitement. Her inner thighs glistened where spots of her wetness had strayed. Elenwen ran her tongue over the soft pink flesh, feeling Maven hot and wet under her mouth, taking her satisfaction in that small modicum of power, at least.

Maven’s fingers ran through Elenwen’s hair, pulling her closer, tighter. Wetness streaked Elenwen’s face, its scent overpowering, and she curled her arms around Maven’s thighs for anchorage, feeling the thick flesh give beneath her fingers as Maven rutted against her tongue.

“I wonder what they’d do,” Maven panted, breaths heavy as she rocked herself against Elenwen’s face, “if they were to open this door now and see you buried between my legs?”

A cold, harsh jolt of panic spiked through Elenwen’s body. The thought of being caught in such a compromising position was unconscionable, so she forced herself not to think at all—of her colleagues, of the guests, of her own desire now soaking through her smallclothes. Her tongue lapped obediently at Maven’s clit, driving her ever closer to release, Maven’s fingers winding tighter in her hair.

“That’s it,” Maven hissed, now claiming her pleasure ruthlessly, panting as she spoke. “Just—mm, like that. Lick my cunt like the—” her voice dripped with lust as she rolled her hips desperately against Elenwen’s mouth, “ _superior_ mer you are…”

Maven’s orgasm washed over Elenwen’s face, and Elenwen continued laving as Maven’s core throbbed and convulsed against her tongue. Maven’s cries filled the room, and Elenwen cringed, any hopes of her being quiet dashed. _She was never quiet._ Elenwen hoped her staff had better sense than to check inside this room. These sorts of noises weren’t a rare occurrence, although usually it was a nobleman and one of the more enterprising serving girls.

Elenwen surfaced from between Maven’s legs, their breaths both heavy. She rootled through her pockets, searching for a cloth or handkerchief to clean her face with.

“You needn’t bother with all that,” Maven said lazily. “I think your face looks much better this way.”

Elenwen blanched, standing up. “You can’t be serious.”

Maven grabbed her by the lapel, tucking her hair behind her ear. Elenwen blushed furiously at the forward gesture, and at the pathetic keening noise that escaped her when Maven’s finger traced along the tip for one blessed second. “Can’t I?” Maven’s hands moved down to Elenwen’s robes, deftly unfastening each button of her trousers and slipping her hand inside. “I think we both know exactly how serious I am.” Maven’s eyes glinted with malevolence as her fingers traced across Elenwen’s sex. “In fact, I think you rather enjoy the idea, don’t you?”

Elenwen whimpered as Maven’s fingers pushed their way inside, stretching and spreading and working her obscenely. Maven leaned closer, pressing Elenwen into the wall behind her, the cold hardness of it some much-needed solidity, a welcome reprieve.

“Of course you do. Milling around, talking to Skyrim’s most esteemed and important citizens… face filthy with my cum.” Maven’s fingers continued toying and teasing until Elenwen couldn’t bite back her moans of pleasure any longer. “Look at you, practically soaking yourself through at the very idea.”

Elenwen ground against Maven’s hand, desperately chasing release, needing anything to distract her from the constant, guilt-ridden monologue that echoed in her head. She could feel the winding coil inside her, the dull aching satisfaction building and roiling and growing, ready to crash over her like ocean waves.

“I think what you’d look best in,” Maven growled, her movements as hard and fast as her breaths, “is nothing but lashes across your skin, slick across your face, and an amulet of Talos around your neck.”

_Auri-El take me._

Elenwen’s world reduced to nothing but sensation as she came, shuddering in Maven’s grip as waves of near-unbearable pleasure ripped through her body. She gasped, attempting to keep quiet but barely managing, her wails of ecstasy ringing in her ears like twisted temple bells. Maven’s stroking never stopped; her thumb circled relentlessly across her sensitive, overstimulated clit as her fingers continued pumping and petting, squirming in Maven’s clutches as pleasure twisted into pain and then back again. All she could do was yelp as Maven wrung her out, leaving her shaking and sore as another orgasm consumed her like magefire, and for a moment she hoped it would, that she’d be burnt up and claimed and purified in flames for her sins.

Maven’s fingers eased out of Elenwen, the sudden loss leaving her strangely bereft as she lolled against the wall, reduced to little more than a quivering wreck.

“Open,” Maven ordered, voice steel-sharp. “Clean me off.”

Elenwen accepted Maven’s digits, tasting herself salty-sweet and acrid, mingling with the taste of Maven still lingering on her tongue. As soon as she’d diligently licked and sucked each finger, Maven withdrew, her fingers now sodden with Elenwen’s spit rather than her excitement. Maven pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, wiping the saliva from her fingers. Elenwen scowled at the futility of the exercise. _Of course, it was always an exercise in degradation rather than practicality._

“Really, you’ve been a terrible host, having it off in the back room when you should be entertaining guests,” Maven smirked, wishing to twist the knife one last time. It was always worse after the fact; beforehand, Elenwen could blur it out with alcohol and chatter and the vague subconscious thought that pleasure would soon follow the unbearable parts. Afterwards, there was nothing but self-loathing, burning hatred, the nagging fear of being found out. _And Maven knew it._ Elenwen wondered exactly why she’d let this Godsforsaken tryst go on for as long as it had, why she hadn’t had the woman killed, or returned to Alinor, or anything else. But she knew full well why.

It wasn’t something she could escape in Alinor. Her desires would still haunt her there. She’d be more likely to be indicted for them, too. To lie with another female mer was an affront to the Gods. To lie with another race was wholly unacceptable. To do both simultaneously was to spit in Auri-El’s face, to wish for a fate worse than death.

She’d tried to resist for decades now, but it was utterly futile. Tried to bury it in the recesses of her mind, where it couldn’t be found, but ultimately it always came back to find her—the revelation that she was just as damned as the heretics that rotted in her dungeons.

“So, First Emissary. Shall we return?”


End file.
